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Arias and Apologies
It was a good hour before Asher was disturbed by the sound of a ring at the front door. Another moment later, Asher’s housekeeper knocked at the door. “Dr. McInerny here to see you, sir.”
Asher carefully put away his sketching materials and then gave the woman a nod. “Ask him to come in, please.”
The door opened a few minutes later, to Ross holding Asher’s forgotten hat, gloves, and coat. “You left these at Geordie’s.” The expression on his face was carefully neutral, though Asher thought he detected a hint of irritation.
Asher lifted a brow. “You could have just sent them ‘round, you know.”
Ross put his armload on a nearby table. “And you could be grateful that I brought them back myself since, as you point out, I could have had them sent.”
“Thank you.” Asher studied his friend. “Would you like a brandy, or do you need to get back?”
Ross offered him a small smile. “When have I ever turned down your brandy?”
Asher actually chuckled. “When have you ever left me any?” He poured out a pair of snifters and indicated the chairs by the fireplace. “Is Elsie still mad at me?”
“Angry that you caused her new friend to rush out of the house?” Ross lifted an eyebrow at Asher, and took a sip of his brandy. “A bit, but she’s a forgiving woman. She’d have to be, to put up with me.”
Asher nodded. “Extend my apologies, will you? I... didn’t mean what I said to come out quite like that. The whole situation caught me off guard.”
Ross took another drink. “It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare.”
Caught by this turn of phrase, Asher frowned. “Why did you say that?”
“You were less than eloquent this afternoon,” Ross returned the frown with one of his own. He sighed and did nothing to hide his exasperation. “Still a bit touchy, I see.”
“No—I just thought—” Asher began, then broke off. “The Shakespeare comment. I thought you were referencing something else. Never mind.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. This situation had him all turned inside out—he needed to do something about it. Maybe he should contact the home office, let them know he was ready for his next assignment. He would be sorry to miss the time with Ross, but going slowly mad wouldn’t help anyone.
Ross was quiet for some time, staring into his brandy before he set it aside. He wiped his hands over his face and regarded Asher speculatively. “We were not playing at being matchmakers. I knew Elsie was having Miss Whitfield over for tea—it’s why I asked you to the lecture.”
“You might have said something.”
His friend’s counter was quick. “And you might have chosen to spend time with me instead of going to Geordie’s for another pout.” He sighed again. “Sorry, but you have to admit, you’ve been a bit... difficult to talk to. Something happened at Loch Ness, that much is obvious, and judging by the way Miss Whitfield bolted, I assume it had to do with her.”
Asher stared at the fire moodily. “I’m an agent of the Queen, Ross. I can’t just throw that away—what kind of man would I be if I did that?”
Ross seemed to consider that for a little while. This was not the usual easy conversation they shared over brandies. “You’d be whatever you chose to be.” He reached for his snifter again and took another drink. “It’s not as if that’s all you’ve ever been.”
Asher snorted. “Are you sure about that?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I just need some distance from the situation, and I’m sure, after my performance today, I’ll get all I need.” He looked up at his friend. “So: name the lecture, and I’m your man.”
“How about a different sort of lecture?” Ross began with a smile. “A musical one, with costumes, and a very comfortable box on reserve for Viscount Kirkleith.”
Asher thought about it, nodding. “It sounds like an excellent diversion. What’s the opera?”
Ross shrugged and started to laugh. “I have no idea. All I know is that Elsie asked me to take her to the opera and then she kissed me and I suddenly had an irresistible urge to... go to the opera.”
Asher laughed along. “Well, then I suppose we’re going to the opera! I’ll dust off my tails. Tomorrow evening?”
“Tomorrow evening.” Ross polished off the last of his brandy in quick order. “And though my wife is a forgiving woman, a peace offering might not be a bad idea. She is very fond of Miss Whitfield.” He lifted a hand in a placating gesture. “Not to steer the conversation back into troubled waters, but... it is what it is. It is also quite awkward to have my wife angry with my best friend when there is but a fortnight remaining before we sail.”
Asher winced. “Any suggestions, or is this something I need to figure out on my own?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to sort it out yourself,” Ross replied. “She can read me better than you can.”
“All right. It’s my bed; I’d best lie in it.” Asher sighed. “Do pass on those apologies for me, as a start. I’ll think of something.” He got up. “Now go home—I can still read you well enough to know where you’d rather be, and it’s not here.”
Ross didn’t argue that point. He looked as though he might have something more to say, but simply offered Asher a goodnight, and gave him the hour they were to meet for the opera. And in minutes, Asher was again alone with his thoughts.
In the morning Asher was up early, heading for the shops. It took him some searching, but he finally found what he wanted, and after consulting with an engraver sent a small token to Elsie with an apologetic note. He pocketed a second small token. Satisfied that he’d done all he could, he headed back to his flat, whistling.
He met Quinn for lunch at a chop house, and by tacit agreement neither mentioned Asher’s recent mood. They shared a couple of whiskeys after the meal and went for a flutter at White’s, and by the time he was to get ready for the opera, Asher was feeling both mellow and expansive. He’d done the best he could, and for the first time in a while he thought it might be good enough.
He dined at home and then took a hansom over to Geordie’s, where he was greeted by a very pleased Elsie. She met him in the vestibule and reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek. She held up one slender arm, from which dangled the charm he’d gotten her: a tiny silver pie with the word ‘humble’ engraved on the back. “Well done,” she said. “I hope you did as well by Miss Whitfield.”
“Not yet,” he admitted. “But I plan to, if you will deliver these for me. I would do it myself, but I doubt she’d take them.” He gave her a letter and a small box from the same jeweler.
Elsie took them with every appearance of interest. “What did you get her?”
“A very small donkey, with my name on it,” he admitted with a grin. “I hope she’ll accept it. I really did not mean to be so rude.”
Ross came down the stairs, pulling a bit at his collar. “The other collar fits better. This one pinches.” He pulled his hand away and smiled at his wife, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. “But I’m happy to endure if your smile remains that bright through the evening.” He offered a hand to Asher. “Well done—honesty often is the best charm.”
Asher chuckled, feeling more like himself than he had since his return from Loch Ness. Somehow, having found a way to apologize eased some of the burden he’d been carrying, and he felt lighter as a result.
“Shall we, then?” a Scottish-tinted baritone asked, and Asher looked up toward the stairs where Geordie and Ione were just coming down. “What’s this about you giving another man’s wife jewelry, Ash?”
“Merely paying a debt,” he replied good-naturedly, and offered to help Ione with her cloak.
Ione smiled radiantly at Asher before she turned to allow him to drape the cloak over her shoulders. “You seem in fine spirits this evening. It’s a refreshing change.”
He merely smiled at her and bowed as the two couples swept through the door before him. Bringing up the rear, Quinn gave him a whimsical look and offered his arm; Asher laughed and took it and the two men strolled out to join the others in the waiting coach.
The Savoy Theatre was packed to the brim; this would be one of the final performances of ‘The Yeoman of the Guard’ and Asher was pleased he’d be able to see it before the new show was mounted. He enjoyed Gilbert and Sullivan’s nonsense as much as anyone, especially their clever lyrics.
The box reserved for Geordie’s party was in a prime position: neither too high nor low, and positioned only just off center so that they could view the show from its best angle, as well as most of the audience. Here was London society at its most elegant: the men in white tie and tails; the ladies in a veritable rainbow of colors, silks and satins and velvets, elaborately cut and ruffled, embroidered, beaded and feathered. At the front of the box Ione and Elsie had their heads together, pointing out acquaintances and occasionally waving to friends as the time for curtain drew near.
Ross was fidgeting with his collar again, and muttering under his breath about how stiff the ‘damned thing’ was. Asher knew that it would not have mattered how well-fitted the collar was, his friend would have fussed with it. “How late do you suppose we’ll be staying?” he asked, pulling his fingers away from his neck and leaning toward Asher. No doubt a smile from Elsie would make him forget his discomfort, but with her attention diverted, his restlessness was in full force.
On Asher’s other side, Quinn chuckled, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”
Asher reached for his friend’s tie. “Just loosen it until intermission, you knob,” he said, and suited action to words.
“Oh—there’s Charlie,” Elsie said excitedly, and Asher nearly throttled Ross by accident.
“Sorry,” he murmured, rectifying the situation, and turned to see where Elsie was pointing.
Charlie was in a box across the way, a vision in pale pink silk, embroidered with delicate and equally pale green vines. Roses in a darker shade of pink were embellished with shimmering beads. Her gown didn’t bear the flurry of ruffles that so many of the other women wore, but she looked no less elegant. Her hair shone like polished gold, curls perfectly ordered atop her head with pearled combs tucked on either side.
She was smiling and laughing, fanning herself with a gloved hand as she chatted merrily with the older woman at her side. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes sparkling.
She looked... ethereal. A stray quotation from the Bard floated through Asher’s head: “...luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: there sleeps Titania sometime of the night, lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight.” “Damn,” he muttered, and turned to Quinn. “D’you think I could get to Geordie’s and back before the end of the first act? I’ve forgotten something.”
“I doubt it,” was his friend’s reply. “There was a bit of a crush at the entrance—I can’t imagine they’ve got it sorted yet.”
A gloved hand touched his arm. “Is this what you forgot?” Elsie held up the jeweler’s box and the letter he’d given her for Charlie. “I didn’t want to misplace it, so I put it in my reticule.”
Asher let out a breath in relief. “Elsie, I could—Ross, kiss your wife.”
Ross grinned at Asher for half a second, then turned and gave his wife a kiss, not wholly without propriety, but with obvious relish. He pulled away from her and looked at Asher. “That good enough, or shall I have another go at it?”
Asher chuckled as he tucked the box and letter away. “That’s for Elsie to judge, but I advise waiting until the lights go down.” As if by his command, the theater lights began to dim, the stage lights came up, and the first bars of the overture began. Not remotely surprisingly, Asher sensed Ross shifting back toward his wife.
Charlie was utterly transported by the spectacle on stage. She’d heard the music before—Uncle Elias had a copy of the opera—but to hear the voices in person, to see the spectacle of the costumes and sets was a different thing entirely. She was almost sad when the lights came up for intermission, but found there was more to enjoy, and looking at the finery of the audience was almost as entertaining.
She turned to Aunt Callista with a smile so wide that her cheeks ached. “It’s so wonderful! I had no idea it would be like this!” Charlie wrapped her arms around the older woman and kissed her cheek.
Lady Therston laughed. “It is delightful, but all the more so for having you here with me, my love. Shall I send for refreshments?”
“Please do,” Charlie nodded. After yesterday’s tea she’d been rather out of sorts, but Aunt Callista had put great care into raising her spirits, and after a lovely afternoon out, attending the opera was the perfect ending to one of the most pleasant days she’d experienced since arriving in London.
“All right.” Callista rose, sorting out her skirt. “I won’t be long.” She stepped through the box door, closing it behind her.
Hardly a minute had passed before there was a tap on the door. Charlie jumped out of her seat and hurried to open it. Perhaps Aunt Callista had forgotten something, or... She opened the door and found herself face to face with the last person she’d expected to meet.
Asher Burton cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. “May I speak with you?” he asked, his tone very quiet. “Just for a moment.”
She blinked mutely, then shook herself and opened the door fully. “Of course, Mr. Burton. Did I leave something behind yesterday?”
His lips curved slightly. “Yes, I’m afraid so. An apology, from me.” He held out a small box and a letter, sealed. On the front of the envelope, in a fine Italianate hand, it read: ‘The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem for that sweet odour which doth in it live.’ “Careful,” he said when she reached for it. “I only just wrote that last bit—the ink’s still wet.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burton,” Charlie replied, carefully avoiding the elegant letters as she opened the envelope. The action gave her an excuse to look away from Asher without seeming rude, and in doing so, cover the fact that she was slightly breathless. She felt a bit like the man she’d spent so many evenings at the cottage with had suddenly returned.
She carefully unfolded the letter inside and began to read.
My dear Charlie, it read,
I owe you an apology. I hope you will accept it, but you need not, of course. I have behaved abominably, and with no real excuse except my own discomfort and confusion, and I have passed those feelings to you, which only doubled the suffering and solved nothing.
I meant some of the things I said that day at the inn: you were an excellent partner in cracking our case, and I won’t forget the time we spent together. I ought also to have said that you are an exceptional woman, who deserves the very best life has to offer, and that I valued the friendship and kindness you extended to me. I should have said that I hoped we could remain friends, though my importunate actions after confronting the changeling may have put paid to that idea. I ought to apologize for that again, but I won’t, because while I am sorry for any pain or misunderstanding I may have caused, I cannot find it in myself to regret that particular action.
I have no real excuse for my boorish behavior, except to assure you that I truly did not mean my words to come out in quite that order, but my mouth does not always listen before running away with itself.
My path in life used to be so clear; it isn’t anymore, but that is my own quandary to wrestle with, and I regret that I allowed those difficulties to spill over onto you.
Enclosed is a small remembrance—a token of our time together, and a portrait of my true self. I hope you will accept it in the spirit it is offered.
Yr. servant,
Asher Burton
When she finished reading the letter, she realized that Asher was holding out the small box still.
Charlie took the box from him, even as she continued to puzzle out exactly how she ought to feel about his letter. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes briefly before opening the box. A small silver donkey shone up at her, with the name ‘Asher’ engraved across its side. She picked it up and held it to the light, then started to laugh.
His shoulders seemed to relax. “I hope that’s a good sign,” he said.
She lifted a gloved hand to her lips, and got herself under control. “It is... Mr. Bottom.”
“Oh, but we’re friends, are we not? Call me Nick,” he invited, sharing the joke. “I have but one thing to add before I return to my seat: you rival Titania herself tonight, Miss Whitfield. I believe the London Season agrees with you.” Asher offered her a last smile and a bow before slipping from the box.
Charlie pressed the letter, along with the charm to her chest, her cheeks on fire from his parting words. She sighed and returned to her seat, and though Asher had gone, her smile remained. She couldn’t say for sure what this encounter had meant, but at the least they were still friends, and for that she was truly grateful.
It was several minutes before Charlie was rejoined by her brevet-aunt. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry,” Aunt Callista exclaimed as she maneuvered into her seat, fanning herself. “There was quite a crush at the bar, and then of course I ran into Lady Kirkleith and Mrs. McInerny in the lobby, and of course that delayed me as well. Our refreshments should arrive shortly. I hope you weren’t too bored while I was gone?”
“Elsie and her sister are here?” Charlie’s ears perked up at the mention of her new friends. “I cannot fault you for visiting with them. Their company is worth the delay.” She slipped the letter and the jeweler’s box into her bag but held the little donkey in the palm of her hand, debating whether or not she should attach it to the bracelet she wore. But no, she glanced over at her brevet-aunt and knew the little charm would have to wait to find its place. “And I had a visit from someone I knew in Scotland—a friend who wanted to set things to rights.”
“Set what things to rights?” her Aunt Callista asked, but there was no time to answer as the refreshments she’d ordered arrived just then, and seconds later the house lights dimmed.
The rest of the evening held an air of enchantment for Charlie. Though everything was still new, she felt more herself than she had since they’d gone to the inn to confront the Shaws—herself and yet, as Elsie had described, not at all the same.